Lost
by AnneriaWings
Summary: Continuation of Cordria's Nova Shots #23. Trapped as a ghost but as powerless as a human, Danny must fight to stay alive in the wilderness with his only link to salvation - his parents. *HIATUS*
1. Chapter One

_**Author's Note: **With Cori's permission, of course, I decided to take a swing at and continue her incredible one-shot, "Lost". It's #23 in her Nova Shots series._

_I've already got a plot laid out and have already started on writing the next chapter. I know my writing will be nowhere _near _as good as hers, but I'll try to put as much effort into it as I can. This short story will be just that - a short story, no more than 5 or so chapters if everything works out alright. For now, this is just a duplicate of her original one-shot, and I'll pick up where it leaves off next time._

**Disclaimer:**_ "Lost" is Cori's idea. DP, obviously, is the property of B. Hartman._

_Hopefully I can live up to her standards and try to make this work. :'D_

_-AnneriaWings_

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**Lost**

by: AnneriaWings

* * *

_-Day One_

* * *

I cradled my broken hand close to my chest and did my best not to glare at the two people in the world who were _supposed_ to care about me. They were huddled around the small campfire they'd managed to start and were completely ignoring me, my broken hand, the blood that was steady dripping down my shirt, and the fact that my whole body was trembling from my cold, wet clothes. My fingers twitched and pain coursed through me. "Ow…" I muttered, biting my tongue to keep stronger words from leaking out of my mouth.

Here we were, probably hundreds of miles from anywhere, surrounded by who knows what in the woods, and I couldn't do a thing about it. Trapped as Phantom but as human and powerless as Fenton, I had no hope of getting my parents to listen to a word I said. Or, for that matter, get them to feel any sort of sympathy when Public Enemy #1 fell and broke his hand.

How did I get into this idiotic situation? To be completely honest, I _still _don't have a clue – a statement my parents refuse to believe, of course. I remember snaring my sister's breakfast on my way to school on Friday because I was running late, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in the forest with my parents glaring at me, surrounded by the wreckage of a crashed plane.

* * *

"This has got to be your fault," Mom accused sourly before I was even fully awake. My head felt like it was full of cotton, my body barely responding to my orders to sit upright. "Why did you crash our plane!?"

I blinked at her dazedly, trying desperately to figure out where I was. Scattered plane pieces equaled 'crash our plane' – check. Lots of dark and nasty-looking trees probably equaled 'middle of nowhere' – check. Now… why was I even _on_ the plane? Why wasn't I in school? "Uh…" Pain suddenly throbbed through my head and I hissed, rubbing at my forehead. At least the world wasn't turning circles, I could count _that_ as something positive.

Footsteps crunched through the wreckage and I twisted my head – slowly – and blearily stared up at my father. "The pilot's dead," he said, his voice softer than usual, "and I couldn't get a reading off the navigation."

Mom's eyes never left me, but she addressed Dad. "Communications?"

"Not working. I'm not sure how long it would take to fix, either." Dad knelt down beside Mom, dropped a bag onto the ground, and studied me carefully. "Why's Phantom here?"

"He must have crashed our plane," Mom muttered. "He probably hit it while he was flying – that was the jolt we felt just before everything went dead."

I let my hand drop away from my head, trying to ignore the piercing throb. Was this all my fault? Glancing from one to the other, I was pretty sure that they were waiting for me to confess and apologize. For a moment, I felt relieved that they weren't blasting first… but then I felt a welling of resentment that they were automatically assuming it this was my fault when it obviously wasn't.

Only… I tried to remember what had happened to get me anywhere near my parents' plane. I distantly remembered them telling Jazz and I about this ghost hunting expedition they'd planned – but they weren't leaving until Sunday. Wasn't it Friday? "What day is it?" I asked softly, wincing at the pain in my head speaking caused.

"Sunday," Dad replied instantly. "Why were you on the plane?"

"I don't know. Last thing I remember is Friday." My gaze dropped to my hands, noting the burns and cuts on my arms. The normal gloves were missing – didn't know where they were – and the fingers of my right hand looked scorched. I had a variety of small cuts and bruises on my skin that were starting to heal. _Could_ be the result of slamming into a plane and sending it to a fiery doom…

But my 'professional' opinion was that I was recently in a ghost fight – one I couldn't remember.

Mom sighed darkly and picked up the bag Dad had dropped between them. "Is this all the emergency supplies?" she asked as she dug through it, wrinkling her nose at the things inside.

Dad nodded. "Small plane – small bag."

I ignored them as they dumped out the emergency bag and started to paw through the supplies. The situation wasn't too bad, I thought. We couldn't be too far from help; I could just fly out and get some help sent back. I could probably even be back in Amity Park before they got home, ready to greet my 'I thought you were dead' parents with fake tears in my eyes.

I floated into the air…

I floated…

My forehead creased as I realized that I wasn't doing anything of the sort. I concentrated – something I hadn't had to do in over a year – and still I went nowhere. Blinking, a little concerned, I held up one my hands and tried to turn it invisible. Then intangible. Then make it flare green with energy.

_Nothing_.

My heart suddenly skipped a beat and I licked my lips. I was still in ghost mode, that much was obvious based on my parents' disdain of my entire existence. But I didn't have access to any of my ghost powers. That did not bode well.

"Eight granola bars, a flare gun with no flares, and a baseball cap?" Mom said suddenly, jerking me out of my thoughts. "What kind of emergency pack _is_ this? Where's the emergency transmitter?"

"What, still no cell phone?" I joked softly, snapping my mouth closed when Mom's hazel eyes burned into mine. I looked back down at my fingers, vowing to stay quiet from now on.

With no ghost powers, I was stuck in the rather horrible situation of being almost completely dependent on my parents – two people who wanted nothing in the world more than to tear me apart to see how I worked. I had few forest survival skills and I'd be mince-meat before too long if they decided to leave me alone. Until I got my ghost powers back, I'd have to play submissive captive ghost-boy. That meant no more smart-aleck remarks.

Maybe it was just the crash and the bash to my head that temporarily misplaced my ghost powers. Perhaps I'd get them back in just a few minutes or a few hours. Probably by sundown I'd be back to normal and be able to fly out of here and not have to deal with my 'let's tear the ghost apart' parents.

Dad grabbed the baseball cap and put it on his head before glancing back at the plane. "We could probably get the radio working again, depending on what kind of parts we could salvage and whether or not we could find a power source. From what I could tell, the main battery looks like swiss cheese."

I watched them hopefully as they chatted back and forth about how they could get the main radio system working again. Mom was better with chemistry but she was killer with a screwdriver when push came to shove, and Dad could fix – or, more usually, _un_fix – anything. And, while we waited for rescue, Mom was one of those outdoorsy-type people would could make a fire from anything. If I had to be in a devastating plane crash with two people, fate had definitely chosen two of the best.

That was when the plane caught fire. Mom and Dad jumped to their feet, but were forced to run for it when oily smoke started to balloon from the engine. I scrambled to my feet and barely managed to stagger dizzily to the safety of the trees before the plane exploded.

Well, so much for that plan.

* * *

"What now?" my mother asked, her arms crossed as she watched the plane burn. Her eyes cut to mine and I winced a little from my spot collapsed under a tree – she still thought this whole thing was my fault and, no doubt, blamed the explosion on me as well. Unfortunately, this was a thought that I wasn't sure was entirely incorrect. "Do we stay here and wait or do we try to hike out?"

"That's a big smoke signal," Dad said softly.

"And we have eight granola bars. Split between the two of us, that's four days if we eat a granola bar a day."

I opened my mouth to interject that there were, in fact, _three_ of us – but then I remembered that 'ghosts' don't need to eat. I did, but then I'd have to explain why I had to eat, my parents would probably not believe me anyways, and I'd be nowhere but having wasted my breath. Silently closing my mouth, I rubbed at my aching head and decided it wasn't worth it. Not yet.

That was when I had a rather random thought: my ghost powers were absent. Could I turn back into my human form? I felt a dizzy wash of anxiety as I glanced at my hands. Normally, when I ran low on energy I transformed back to human and there was nothing I could do to stop it. If that happened here…

I looked up at my parents as they argued back and forth about staying and leaving, then back down at my hands. I narrowed my eyes slightly and focused, imagining all of the energy in my body tunneling inside of me and hiding, allowing my human form to appear. I waited for the aura to appear that signaled that it was working… but nothing was happening.

After a few moments I broke off, panting a little at the effort. Leaning back and allowing my head to connect with the tree – _ouch_ – before I remembered how much my head hurt, I sighed. No ghost powers. No turning human. I was stuck.

"We were headed out into nowhere, Jack; no one's expecting to see us at all for another four days," Mom said. "They're not going to start looking until then. Thirty miles a day, four days… we could be over a hundred miles from here before they even realize we're missing."

"A hundred miles and lost," Dad muttered, but I could see that he wasn't really arguing anymore. I didn't blame him – it usually wasn't worth arguing with Mom once she got her mind wrapped around something. Besides, she _was_ the outdoors expert. If she said we needed to try to walk out, neither of us could really argue against it.

Neither of them asked my opinion – not that I had one, but it still stung. When they finally decided that yes, they were going to walk away from the crash site, they simply climbed to their feet, Dad shouldered the emergency pack that he must have grabbed before the plane exploded, and started to walk away.

"Hey!" I got to my feet, a wash of dizziness making me stumble. "Wait for me!"

Mom never hesitated, but Dad turned around to watch me trip over my own feet and collapse to the ground. By the time I got my hands and feet underneath me, Dad was crouched beside me. "Wait until you can think straight and then fly home, Phantom." I stared at him – I couldn't fly! – but he continued before I had a chance to speak. "Tell Danny and Jazz what happened," his eyes narrowed, "but if I hear a single word about you doing anything to them, I will hunt you down and tear you apart."

"But…"

He got to his feet and turned his back on me, following my mom into the woods and leaving me alone.

My mouth dropped open in shock, my mind blank for a few precious moments. They just… _left_. Left _me_ all alone in the woods… How could they do that? I was their _son_!

Eyes narrowing, I struggled to my feet and stumbled after them. They were _not_ going to leave me all alone in the woods – especially since I had absolutely zero survival skills and I, truthfully, didn't know how long it would take for my ghost powers to recover. If I knew it would just be a few hours, I would have sat and waited. But, for all I knew, it could be weeks before I could fly again; I didn't have weeks.

I had to catch up to them. Without them, I wasn't too sure I'd survive this adventure.

* * *

Using the tree trunk to make sure I was still standing upright, I struggled to take a breath as I caught sight of my parents some distance ahead. I was barely staying in view of them, more bouncing from tree to tree than actually walking. My fingers dug into the tree for a moment, then I pushed off and started after them, determined to catch up with my parents despite the persistent ache in my body.

They knew I was back here, following. I'd seen both of them turn around to look at me a few times now and I was a little surprised that they were letting me follow. I was pretty sure that my mother could have gotten me lost in about five minutes if she wanted to. Chuckling a little to myself as I tried to keep my feet moving in a straight line, I tried to imagine what they were talking about up there. They were probably laughing about the pathetic ghost boy that can't even walk straight, maybe blaming me for the plane crash… maybe even coming up with plans to allow me to tail them back to Amity Park before they captured me.

My fingers brushed against a tree trunk as I caught another glimpse of my dad's bright orange jumpsuit through the trees. I tried to pick up the pace a little, my feet struggling to keep putting themselves in front of each other without tripping over things like roots and dead branches. The sun was starting to set – at the same time making it more difficult to see and raising my hopes that my parents would stop soon. After getting some sleep, my head would probably be feeling better and I'd stand a better chance of not being left behind.

My teeth ground together slightly as I thought about that. I really _should_ tell them who I was; this wasn't a good situation to be in and be surrounded by a coat of lies. There was a real chance that some of us – maybe even all three of us – wouldn't survive. We needed to work together and I knew that my parents would never willingly work with a ghost.

Maybe, though, if they knew I wasn't really a ghost… The only problem was that I couldn't think of a single way to prove it. I couldn't turn human and there was no way they'd believe me without some sort of proof. Even _with_ proof I wasn't sure they'd believe me.

I groaned softly and slipped under a low-hanging branch, squinting through the trees and not seeing anything. Having no choice but to trust to luck, I kept walking in the same general direction and kept an eye out for my parents. Less than a minute later I spotted them in a small clearing. They looked like they had stopped.

Hope welled up inside of me, my tired body unhappily stumbling towards them. Dad turned around, spotted me, and raised his arm with his fingers spread apart, a look of concern on his face. "Phan-"

I didn't hear anymore because my feet suddenly dropped out from under me, my body tumbling down an embankment towards a hidden creek I hadn't even begun to notice. I gave a strangled gasp of surprise, instinctively trying to fly even as my hands reached out to grab something to slow my fall. There was nothing to grab, no flight to come to my aide.

I slammed into the creek, the hand that was out to break my fall crashing into a rock just under the surface of the water. I heard the sickening crunch of breaking bone, a nauseating ache staring to well up in my hand, and struggled to sit up and get my head out of the water. Spitting out water, coughing helplessly, I knelt in the foot-deep, freezing water and stared around me. I cradled my hand close to my chest, noting the nice gash in my palm that was seeping red-green blood.

"Phantom?"

Looking up into my dad's eyes, I shook my head wordlessly, closed my eyes, and felt a stab of despair race through me. They wouldn't believe I was their son, they wouldn't slow down for me, and they wouldn't help me. I was just a stupid ghost – an _idiotic_ one that had doggedly been chasing them all afternoon. And now my hand was broken.

"Come on," my dad's voice said and I opened my eyes, seeing him holding out his hand for me to grab.

I got to my feet, wincing at a pain in my leg, and held out my good hand, allowing him to almost drag me up the small ravine onto dry land. As soon as I was free I started to shiver from the cold water – something that I'd never done before in ghost mode; I usually didn't have any concept of temperature as a ghost. Holding my broken hand close to me, I started limping silently towards the clearing.

"Are you okay?" Dad asked softly, reaching out and grabbing my broken hand. I gasped in pain when he touched it and yanked it back. He stared down at his fingers, obviously studying the not-quite-ghost-like red-green blood. "Why didn't you fly?"

"I can't," I said, looking away.

"Oh." He watched me as I collapsed to the ground at the edge of the clearing and then went over to talk to Mom. Mom set about making a fire, Dad grabbing branches for firewood, and I just sat there, my broken hand held tightly against me, blood dripping down my shirt, trembling from the cold that was seeping into my bones, and having no idea what could possibly go wrong next.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Author's Note: **Dragondancer and I have gone through this with a virtual flea comb, and only now am I sort-of of confident it's worth posting. I could have never done it without her help. Once again, thank you!_

_Another huge thanks also goes out to Cori for allowing me to continue this. :3 I'm sorry it's not even worth comparing to her amazing work, but it was the best I could do, for now. XD;_

_Enjoy?_

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**Lost**

by: AnneriaWings

* * *

The forest was _beyond_ pitch-black.

I'd been sitting here for an untold amount of time, slumped exhaustedly against the trunk of a small tree – which wasn't comfortable in the least, from the stupid nuts that were strewn across the ground and digging into my skin – and continuing to gingerly cradle my hand against my chest, a little dizzy from the fresh pain. Once or twice I'd given a half-hearted attempt to stop the deep gash in my palm from bleeding so much, but applying any pressure on the surface just made my hand explode with agony. The freezing cold that soaked into my damp jumpsuit caused involuntary shivers to wrack my body, despite the unbearable ache that throbbed within my broken left wrist with each tiny movement. I tried not to think about the pain or the cold.

The campfire Mom and Dad had set up earlier emitted a dim orange glow that reached up and surrounded the small clearing, no doubt comforting them with warmth and light and protection from wild animals.

Outside the dome of light, darkness stretched between the undergrowth and up into the starless sky. The faint forms of the surrounding trees and bushes flickered and cast even blacker shadows across one another from the firelight, but beyond that, there was only the dark and god-knows-what out there. I felt horribly exposed. Listening hard between my throbbing head and the soft mumblings of my parents allowed cicadas, crickets and even the occasional owl to be heard off in the distance.

Gritting my teeth in a fit of pain and hopeless anxiety, I tried not to think about the fact that we were _surrounded_, and instead looked over at Mom and Dad, scowling. They were still talking; no doubt about me and why the hell my powers weren't working and what the hell I was still doing hanging around here like some lost puppy. The great hero of Amity Park – or, in their eyes, Public Enemy Number One and a priceless lab experiment-in-waiting – was reduced to nothing more than a tired, limping mess. I was pathetic and _stupid_, laughable. I tried not to wince each time I heard 'Phantom' mumbled.

I tore my gaze away as Dad swiveled his head back to glance in my direction, checking to see if I was still there. I focused down at the mud smeared on my white boots and the faint glow that still hovered around my spectral body, the way the soft white light played on the sticks and leaves whenever I moved. _Oh_, I'd kill to warm my hands up to that fire.

If only I was able to tell them – actually _show_ them I wasn't the brainless gob of ectoplasm that they thought I was. I knew would be _seriously_ considering trying to spill everything if things got so bad that it'd have to come to that – even if they wouldn't believe me. There was no telling when I'd gain my abilities back or suddenly revert back to my human form. Accidentally exposing myself should my powers suddenly spring back out of the blue would turn out _so_ much worse than trying to just tell them.

I'd twice attempted to reach within myself, searching through my soul for that tiny part of _me_ that wasn't cold and dead. Lost powers or not, it couldn't just be _gone_, right? It was still part of me… half of me. It wouldn't just disappear or fade away.

It was probably just another lost cause. But in any case I shifted through thought after terrified thought, seeking that bit of warmth and heaviness. I guess it _was_ there, albeit unobtainable and out of reach, but I could definitely feel my humanity in there… _somewhere_. Whatever had screwed up my memories was also wearing down on my concentration, or it could've been the sheer lack of energy, or the fact that my wrist would _not stop hurting_.

Stupid hand. Stupid not-working-powers. Stupid plane.

With a grimace, actually having to clench my mouth shut to try to hold in a muffled cry (which was unsuccessful), I shifted a little so my back rested more comfortably – or as close to comfortable as I could get – against the hard bark of the tree, still shivering. Pain bolted from my broken hand and into my arm as I moved, but it eventually ebbed away to a dull ache. Thankfully, the cold air was numbing a little of the pain.

A sudden low rumble echoed far off in the distance. All three of us lifted our heads – for one split second, my heart leapt up with hope that it was a rescue helicopter or something – before we settled back down. Thunder.

"Just _wonderful_," I heard my mom grumble, and I glanced over at my parents to see them looking up uneasily at the black sky. A couple of wet patters here and there up in the trees and on the ground told me it'd already started sprinkling. "It's probably going to rain all night. There goes our fire."

"Shouldn't we try to set up some sort of shelter or something?" Dad asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"No," Mom sighed as the thunder boomed again. "We're not sticking around here for long once this storm passes. It'd just be a waste of energy."

"Well, _I'm_ not gonna sleep in the rain," Dad muttered. He glanced around, hesitating when his eyes passed over me, but I tensed and looked away as he kept searching. "What about those trees over there? They've got lots of big leaves and low branches and… stuff."

The campfire began to flicker weakly as the light, cold sprinkles graduated to a steady rain. Pulling her goggle-less hood on, Mom twisted around to survey a small group of closely-rooted trees and then nodded. "Deciduous," she said. "Probably some sort of beech, by the looks of it. We _should_ stay somewhat dry."

"It'll do for now," my father agreed.

As the fire began to hiss, my parents got up and headed out across the dark clearing and further away from me, Dad carrying the small emergency pack with him.

They never paused to glance back at me. I opened my mouth to say something and started to pick myself up to follow behind – before stopping in mid-crouch. It was clear they weren't intending for me to join them.

What would've been the point, anyway? There was no way they'd let me try to sleep next to them or attempt to share their body heat. I didn't need warmth, and I couldn't feel pain or loneliness. I was a _ghost_.

With a soft groan, the 'wait for me' died in my throat before I could utter it and I slowly sat back down, my broken hand protesting the movement. The fire had completely died out, throwing everything into the dark. My sensitive green eyes drifted out across the small clearing and watched as Mom and Dad sat down under the heavy clump of dry, low-hanging branches and snuggled together, relatively safe from the dripping rain. They were quiet, but their body language said it all: _This spot is _ours.

For the umpteenth time today, my parents had just… _left_ me.

They _left_ me here, _alone_, in the _rain._

I knew I was currently guised as Phantom – the ghost who shouldn't feel lonely or abandoned, or anything for that matter – but it still stung, a big wave of despair washing around my heart that I couldn't prevent. I was their _son_. Even now, when I needed them the most, they had just… ignored me.

Another crack of thunder echoed far away as trembles continued to wrack my sitting form, my teeth chattering as I tried to scoot further up against the tree and stay dry. Of course – being just a tree – that had proven useless, and soon my mop of white hair was dripping and soaking wet along with the rest of my clothes. My breath fogged in the cold, wet air and I brought my good arm closer to my body, bringing my knees up to my chest in a weak attempt to preserve what little warmth there was. Glaring at the ground, I narrowed my eyes shut and _forced_ down the hard lump that'd welled up in my throat as I just huddled there – tired, bleeding, cold and alone.

I was _not_ going to cry.

* * *

_Day Two_

* * *

Well, to be honest, a few positive things _did_ manage to come out of last night.

One, my head wasn't hurting _nearly_ as bad. The splitting headache had dulled away to a low throb sometime over midnight – or what I'd figured was midnight, anyway. The second was that most of the more superficial cuts and burns that'd formed from yesterday's plane crash were starting to heal, and I wasn't laden down with as much weakness and exhaustion. My palm had even stopped bleeding. Overall, my body felt a little better.

…Except for my hand. It was still broken. A large, sickly bruise had formed on and just above my wrist, going up on top of my hand, and much of the area was swollen where I knew the bones were fractured.

Not to mention that my entire _arm_ was continuously assaulted with splitting pain – and the chilly air that still hung around still made me shiver and my jumpsuit was still damp from last night. The mid-morning sky was overcast with little tiny patches of blue showing through, and it'd stopped raining long ago, but it had to be at least forty degrees out. Considering how much energy it already took just trying to cope with the pain and cold and _not_ pass out, I really wasn't any better off than I was yesterday.

I groaned softly as I reached up with my good arm to grab a low branch of the tree for support, heaving myself up. A wash of dizziness swooped through my brain right then and I almost collapsed back on the damp ground, but I managed to steady myself after leaning heavily against the trunk for a few moments, closing my eyes and just focusing on breathing.

"This freaking sucks," I muttered sourly to no one before gazing out into the clearing where my parents had set up camp. Mom and Dad also began to pick themselves up, Dad letting out a loud yawn as they groggily shook off the last remnants of sleep.

He spared me a long look before wordlessly turning back to help Mom onto her feet. Not even so much as a 'good morning' or 'how's your broken hand'.

Still gingerly holding my arm, I breathed out an exhausted sigh and rested my head back against the tree. Not that I'd gotten any sleep anyways. I'd spent most of the night just sitting here trying to stay _warm_ and trying to ignore my injuries. A few times I'd drifted off in the rain, almost dozing, only to be brought back to reality by a particularly fat drop of water or a sudden spike of agony from my wrist. Trying to fall asleep when you're sitting on the cold, wet ground is not easy.

_Mom and Dad are still kind of to blame for this_…I clenched my jaws together and shook off the thought almost as soon as it'd hit me. Now was not the time; I'd think about it later. There were other things to worry about now, like where the heck we were going to go next… and food.

I resisted the urge to clamp my good hand over my stomach at the empty, hollow feeling of hunger that churned at the mere thought of something to eat. We were stuck out here with no way of knowing when we'd find help. I had to eat something if Mom was right and we were indeed going to be out here for at least a few days. If I was really, _really_ lucky, maybe – just _maybe_ – my parents would share a granola bar… but I wasn't going to get my hopes up.

I let my simmering green eyes flick around the small campsite, licking my lips and trying to remember the little scraps of basic wilderness survival information I'd managed to pick up over the years. Weren't forests supposed to have berries I could pick? Plants? Or perhaps I could catch something… provided it didn't run away or try to catch _me_ first.

A growl of frustration left my throat as I stalked off towards where Mom and Dad were. It was hopeless. I was so going to starve out here.

"Great. Just _great_," I heard Mom mutter angrily, kicking at a fallen branch that had been soaked black by all the rain. "Everything's too damp. There's nothing to burn for god-knows-how-many miles all around us." She twisted around to glare at me as I approached. "And it's still all _your_ fault."

I nearly stumbled to a stop at the knife-like stare she gave me. "But… I didn't mean…" But before I could say anything else she turned back to my father, crossing her arms.

"We need to keep moving," she said, completely ignoring me, her voice softening to something much gentler to Dad. "We've got a lot of ground to cover, and following this creek downstream is our best bet."

Dad shrugged in agreement and then looked at me, his expression not nearly as cold as Mom's was – if anything, he looked confused. "You okay?" He asked softly, eyeing the way I cradled my broken hand. We both started trudging sort-of closely behind Mom, my eyes flitting up to keep the teal blue of her suit in sight as we disappeared into the dark brambles.

_My hand is broken, we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, and you and Mom abandoned me in the rain last night. How the hell do you think I feel? _Fighting to keep a scowl off my face, I looked down at my feet and shrugged. "Fine for the most part, I guess."

Dad fingered the emergency pack he carried and gazed off into the trees. He was quiet for a moment, probably mulling over a bunch of different questions in his mind, before he spoke again. "So… why can't you fly, then?"

"I don't know," I said quietly.

"Hmph," he mumbled, pausing to dig one of the eight granola bars in the emergency pack. I licked my lips and kept my eyes locked ahead of us, trying not to think about the food.

"Your gloves are gone," he noted finally, and I glanced down at my bare hands. A large greenish-red scab had formed overnight on my palm and my fingers were still a little burned, but they were healing quickly.

"They fell off sometime yesterday. Don't know where they are now."

"Oh." Munching on his granola bar, his brows furrowed as we continued to walk along the cold, damp ground, the silence beginning to feel awkward. I was still kind of surprised he'd even talked to me in the first place. Dad was usually the blast-first-and-ask-questions-later type. Right now he was almost sympathetic, and I tried to figure out why.

"I… Last night I noticed you were bleeding… your ectoplasm had flecks of red in it."

Oh. That was why.

Even when lost in the woods with little chance of survival, Dad still saw me as just some science experiment to toy with in his mind. I had to be careful – they both would probably try to pass the time later to scrutinize everything about me even more. My shoulders tensed a little at that notion as I limped along through the undergrowth, using my good hand to brace against the trees to keep my feet from tripping out under me. It was a moment before I responded.

"Whatever made me forget the last two days also probably screwed up my powers," I muttered, wincing violently with a yelp when my broken hand was suddenly bumped lightly against a small tree. My knees buckled at the flash of pain and I fell to the ground.

Dad seemed to digest my answer for a moment before shrugging indifferently as I grunted and tried to get up. "Still doesn't explain the red…" he mumbled. He didn't slow down to wait for me.

I grit my teeth as I picked myself up, stumbling forward into the brush as he met up with Mom about ten or so paces ahead. For a moment I just stood there, focusing on the sickening ache that throbbed in my hand, trying to catch my breath. They weren't going to help me. I had to keep moving.

Shaking my head, I limped forward and tried not to lose sight of the bright blue and orange.

* * *

We had to have been traveling for hours as we continued to follow the creek. There weren't any changes at all in scenery as the day dragged on – the forest seemed to go on forever. Even as they occasionally glanced back to see if I was following, Mom and Dad didn't slow down or stop at all for me – but I hadn't at all expected them to. Not a word had been spoken to me since this morning, leaving me alone to trail behind, lost in my own quiet thoughts.

Still, I tried to keep up the pace. I was behind by a good twenty or so feet, just enough to keep my parents in sight through the thick vegetation. For half the day I'd had to concentrate solely on keeping my feet moving in a straight line and not trip over any fallen branches or roots. But I was hurt and tired, the cold and lack of sleep from last night weighing down on both my body and mind, so it was hard just trying not to be left behind.

I caught a glimpse of my dad's orange jumpsuit through the trees and struggled to catch up. It was becoming noticeably more difficult to stay in a steady, straight path – the ground was gradually beginning to tilt uphill. I glanced a little ways through the trees and noticed the creek had veered off to the side, becoming less and less visible before it disappeared completely beside a steep cliff face.

Gritting my teeth at the continuous ache from my broken hand, I held it close to my chest as I leaned forward a little, using my good hand to steady myself and push off against the passing rocks and tree trunks. My feet were tired and protested against the exertion, but I ignored them and kept going.

Brambles snagged at my feet as I pushed my way into a relatively open clearing. Mom and Dad had slowed down at the base of a _very_ steep hill, full of mud and leaning trees that had roots sticking out all over the place. I also found myself stumbling to a stop, eyeing the hill with wary reluctance as my parents already started to go forward.

"Excellent," I breathed, grimacing. I was going to have one hell of a time trying to keep up now.

Ignoring the question of _why_ there was a huge hill out in the middle of the forest in the first place, I began to trek upwards after Mom and Dad, feeling my body unhappily stumble in the mud at least every couple of feet. Grabbing a nearby root along the way when they appeared helped a lot for my balance, but it only wore out my upper body faster.

I glanced behind me and sighed as I pulled myself up. I was barely even halfway from the bottom, and Mom and Dad were already climbing up over the top. At this rate, I was going to lose them. And it was blatantly obvious that they weren't going to wait for me or even slow down, so I tried to increase my awkward pace, grabbing root after gnarled root and pulling myself up while my boots dug into the soft mud.

One particular spot on the hill – what appeared to be the steepest section – proved to be too difficult to climb up on my own with just one arm. With a small grunt, I swung a muddy foot over to the right to get some solid leverage on a thick root, my good hand reaching carefully up to grab a low-hanging tree branch.

My foot slipped.

Adrenaline suddenly blasted through my veins as I yelped in surprise and snapped out my good arm to grip the branch in front of me. I held on for dear life even as I slid several feet backwards, dragging the thin wood along with me. It suddenly gave way with a loud _crack_ – and I fell.

Instinct slammed into my thoughts right then, commanding me to lunge half my body to the right and grab hold of a thicker branch that stretched out from the dirt. Pain coursed through my broken hand as it was bumped and dragged against the dirt as I tried to heave myself up, but I ignored it for the most part. Instead, I was focused on the startling fact that my ankle wasn't budging. I twisted my head around under my good arm and groaned – my foot was caught underneath a bundle of little roots, having been jammed down by the force of my fall. Several frantic struggles and yanks of my leg proved useless. I was stuck.

Looking back up to the top of the hill, I felt my heart sink when I couldn't see my parents. They'd already trudged up to the top of the hill… they were gone.

"Damn it," I muttered, still trying to wriggle my foot loose of the roots. Licking my lips – and spitting out a few flecks of mud from my mouth – I considered yelling for help… if they'd even be able to hear me. Or, for that matter, if they'd even have the desire to help me at all. They'd probably just leave me here.

I narrowed my eyes and worked to try and get my foot out of the tangled mess of roots, kicking at them with my other leg and even just trying to heave myself up from my spot gripping the branch above, but with little luck. With a sigh I let my forehead plop against the steep hill, not caring in the least that mud was getting all over my white hair. I was probably going to be here for awhile.

"Phantom?"

I glanced up, hope welling inside my chest for a moment as I saw the bright orange of Dad standing up at the top of the hill. To my surprise his face wasn't contemptuous, but just concerned if not slightly bewildered. "What's wrong?"

The ghost kid had lost a fight with a couple of _trees_.

Sighing, trying not to let a scowl harden my face, I looked up at him and tried to smile awkwardly. I failed. "I'm stuck," I mumbled, yanking my foot roughly against the roots.

Dad glanced over his shoulder for a moment before sliding down a good portion of the hill, careful not to slip and fall, and stopped a good five feet or so from where I was hanging on for dear life. "C'mon, give me your arm," he ordered, offering an outstretched hand.

I let my wide eyes flick up to the thick branch I was gripping – my arm was tiring by the second and I didn't know how much longer I could hold on. And there was no _way_ I was giving him my broken hand, so…

"I… can't," I said, shaking my head. "I'll just fall."

"Your other one, then."

He reached further, his fingers just barely within reach if I were to stretch my other hand up. But I shook my head, instinctively drawing my broken wrist closer into my chest.

Dad retreated a little ways with a sigh. He was probably deciding whether to just leave me here or not, but suddenly he twisted over his shoulder and hollered up past the top of the hill. "Mads!"

He waited. Both of us were quiet for several moments, until he shouted again. "_Maddie!_"

There was a loud rustling of leaves and then Mom finally appeared into view, leaning heavily against a walking stick for support against the unstable mud, and looked down at us. "What?"

"He's stuck. I need your help."

Mom just stared down at me for the longest moment and I was hit with a wave of uneasiness. She wasn't heartless; that much I knew. But to _me_, the ghost she'd worked so hard to hunt and destroy… I didn't know what she would do. I probably looked as pathetic as pathetic could get.

Finally, she looked at my dad with a scowl. "He's a ghost, Jack. He'll be fine."

Dad shrugged. "He can't get his foot out of the roots down here."

My mother had a conflicted look on her face for just a moment before putting down her stick with a sigh, muttering something about me slowing them down as she reluctantly slid down the mud to… _help_ me. I just stared at them both, fully expecting the 'April Fool's' joke even as Mom crouched beside my foot. She instantly set to work on untangling my foot out of the thin roots, grabbing my ankle tightly to support herself, and I winced at the painful pressure – but remained silent. I tried not to meet her eyes.

Soon I was able to wriggle my foot the rest of the way to freedom. Mom hastily pulled away without so much as looking at me. She was already making her way back up the hill as I worked on pulling myself up, able to give my legs some extra support.

"Your arm," Dad said again, and I looked up at him hesitantly before taking his hand. He heaved me upwards the rest of the way up the steep, muddy hill, my mind flitting back to just last night when he'd gotten me out of the creek I'd fallen in. This was so unlike him. It just didn't make sense.

Still, I couldn't complain as he practically pulled me off my feet at the top of the ravine. I clenched my teeth at a pain from my ankle as I let go of his grip. Trying to flick some of the mud off myself with my good hand, I managed to murmur a small, "Thanks."

He nodded, then turned his back to me to follow my mom deeper into the woods.

* * *

"Cattails," Mom exclaimed from up ahead, and I heard her pace quicken as I pushed my way after them through the branches. We'd reached a small clearing after trekking downhill all day, having met up with the creek again from earlier, and there was a long and narrow ditch full of a bunch of tall plants. The sun was starting to set already, making it difficult to see – but they were there.

"What about them?" Dad asked, and I furrowed my brows as well, wondering the same thing.

"They're perfect tools for surviving out in these woods." Mom set down her walking stick and the emergency pack she'd taken off Dad's hands earlier this afternoon. "It's too damp out here to start a fire from just sticks and branches—" she gestured around the small clearing by the creek before going over to the plants, already working on trying to bring one down— "but the fluff inside these flower heads is dry and highly flammable - even after it rains."

Dad suddenly grinned. "Tinder," he said, eagerly following to help rip the plants apart.

Mom nodded up at him, hope glistening in her eyes as she twisted one of the heads open, revealing a cotton-like material inside. I could tell her mood was already improving by the smile on her face. "And insulation; we ought to snag a good number of these for later. They can also be eaten raw. I've heard they kinda taste like cucumbers."

"Mads, what would I do without you," Dad beamed.

As my parents worked on harvesting as many cattails as they could, Mom already setting about clearing an area of the clearing for a fire, I sighed and curiously took a bite out of one of the plant stalks off to my side. It tasted gross, at first, and there was a dirty, gritty feeling in my mouth – but it was food. My stomach craved more.

I glared at the cattail. Memory loss, stuck with my parents, unable to fly or turn human, and now I was reduced to eating nothing but wild plants. _Somewhere_, someone was laughing at me. This whole mess we were in _had_ to be part of some sick, cosmic joke.

* * *

It was the second time we were spending the night out in the middle of nowhere and there still weren't any signs of hope. But I really couldn't find it in me to care. I hadn't slept in nearly forty eight hours; I was still hungry, and absolutely exhausted.

Not even bothering to even look where I was, I collapsed to the closest spot of semi-dry ground I could find, using my good arm to sweep away any sharp sticks and leaves, moaning quietly at the flare of pain from my broken hand. It was jostled as I tried to get comfortable, causing a string of curses past my clenched teeth and adding the extra effort of trying not to curl up on the ground and just pass out… which was starting to sound very reasonable.

I simply sat there, on the very edge of the temporary campsite, as Mom and Dad chatted about what to do next. Mom threw a couple more bundles of cattail tinder onto the building fire, the flames they were huddled around glowing brighter and – undoubtedly – warmer. An unconscious set of shivers shook my body as I gazed wistfully at the warmth my parents refused to share with me.

Dad turned his head to look at me, and I responded by quickly turning my attention down to my feet. This seemed to be becoming a routine – they'd look, and I'd look away. After a few long seconds, I could still feel his eyes on me.

Holding my throbbing wrist close to me and suppressing the urge to tremble from the cold and the pain, I let out a sigh and closed my eyes, wanting to block everything out and at least try to rest.

"Phantom."

My head snapped up. Dad was staring at me with – surprisingly – something other than his usual disdain. He seemed to debate something for a moment before speaking softly. "Would… would you like to come over to the fire?"

…_Huh?_

I just blinked, not really having understood the question, and then stared at my father like he'd sprouted two heads. I saw Mom look up at him incredulously and then slowly shake her head to herself, face darkening as he sent her a look. Her opinion obviously hadn't been asked.

On a normal day, I would have firmly kept my distance. Mom and Dad were _dangerous_ and still probably had a very strong desire to capture and cut me open later if we got out of this mess. Even now, getting that close to them would really be pushing my luck. My instincts told me it was probably just some ploy to offer me a false sense of security. But the notion of actually sitting down and getting _warm_ was too good to pass off, and I was just too tired to argue with myself about the pros and cons.

Besides, my dad had actually _invited_ me over. That… that had to mean something, right?

Nodding slowly, my fatigued body running on autopilot, I struggled to pick myself up from the cold ground and walked cautiously over to the campfire. Mom set me a tired glare… but didn't say anything. I hesitated as my thoughts clashed with uncertainty, still a little unnerved that I was now within potential striking distance of both parents, before sitting down next to Dad with a heavy sigh. The warmth of the fire instantly greeted my skin – and my body's decision was already made.

"You looked like you were cold," he said, studying me carefully – but his eyes didn't meet mine.

I glanced up at him before nodding again a little briskly, scooting closer to the flames. God, I was freezing.

The light and warmth were _so_ much better than sitting back over in the dark. A small smile drifted to my face as all my hunger and confusion and worries about getting yelled at instantly left my brain, replaced with the sole task of trying to _stay_ warm. Curling my knees up to my chest and careful to keep my broken hand still, I shivered and huddled closer, practically sitting right in the flames.

We were silent for a long while as we listened to the crackling mixed with random hisses and pops that filled the chilly night air, my parents occasionally exchanging a few words and Mom moving to throw more tinder into the small fire to keep it ablaze. I was no longer cold and shivering – to be honest, for the first time in two days I felt _comfortable; _if you didn't count the continuing pain from my hand. But even that ache began to ebb away as I gradually felt my mind drift, the world slowing down around me, my eyelids fluttering and getting heavy. I barely even noticed my parents still staring. My body was just too drained to stay awake for much longer.

Gazing into the dancing orange flames, it wasn't too long before I slowly drifted off to sleep, dimly feeling my body lean tiredly against something large and warm before I was unconscious.

* * *

It seemed only minutes later when I was suddenly jostled into stirring, blearily feeling my head spin and my body protesting to return to the dark bliss.

"He's actually sleeping…"

"But I just don't get it – ghosts _can't _sleep… can they?"

Whatever I was leaning against shifted slightly and was now mumbling almost indistinctly, something akin to utter fascination in the voice – but I was too tired to really listen. I did manage to briefly crack my eyes open, though.

Dad continued to sit comfortably next to the fire, not having moved since I'd fallen asleep against his arm. And for some reason, I was at ease. The back of my mind tried to process this odd situation for a moment before I mentally shrugged, putting it off for later. I was just too tired.

"We'll worry about it tomorrow, Mads."

Mind empty, I drifted back to sleep.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **'Aww?'_

_I kind of felt like the ending here was a tad rushed - but oh well. I dunno if this chapter even qualifies as angst, maybe 'flangst,' I guess... I'm sorry it doesn't really go anywhere in terms of plot, but some action-y stuff will pick up next time, I swear. D:_

_Anyway, the next update might be a little while - I haven't even started the next chapter yet. Lab Rat is my main prority right now so I'm going to try to finish it before working on anything else._


	3. Chapter Three

**_Author's Note: _**_I am so freaking sorry for the long wait! I really don't have anything to use as an excuse other than my natural tendency to procrastinate, and what doesn't help is the fact that I feel like this particular chapter is really half-assed and filler-ish compared to the other. X'D It seems too... I dunno, slow? Stalling? In any case, things really pick up next time, and next time shouldn't be nearly as long as a wait._

_Flegh, I dunno. D: Feedback would really be appreciated; I tried as hard as I could, so hopefully it won't seem as messy as my paranoia percieves it to be._

_-Anneria_

**

* * *

**

Lost

by: AnneriaWings

* * *

_Day Three_

* * *

When I woke, one of the first things my brain added to its lovely 'List of Things to Complain About' wasn't the cold or the hard ground or my body's numerous aches and pains. It was the ravenous churning in my stomach, my mind distantly supplying a single word: _hungry._

I couldn't help but groan quietly, shifting a little from wherever I was laying and drowsily taking in more of my surroundings. That's when I noticed this weird feeling of part of my upper body being elevated, like my head was resting against something. Something with a soft, lumpy sort of feeling. Pillow, perhaps… In any case, for now, I was in no hurry to find out what it was. I was perfectly content to just lay here – wherever 'here' was – and keeping my eyes closed; that blissful, placid state between being awake and asleep felt too good to relinquish. Shifting a little (…_am I on the ground or something?_), I sighed, ready to shut out the world again and get several more hours of sleep.

That's when my jostled left hand suddenly exploded into pain. It drew a hiss from me as I squeezed my eyes shut, now completely awake, memories from the last two days sliding into focus. I groaned quietly and waited for the pain to subside to something below 'excruciating'. I blearily opened my eyes – wincing at a barrage of bright sunlight – and struggled to sit up, my unhappy body protesting the movements. Now that I was fully awake, I twisted around and managed to get the chance to see what I'd been laying on.

The emergency pack.

Raising a brow, my mind just stared dumbly at it for a moment, and I blinked in confusion. Weren't my parents supposed to have it?

_My parents._ I twisted my head around to look for them, eyes wide with panic. Had they left me here last night? Was I alone?

But they were still there. I'd been the first to wake up. Asleep on the other side of the smoldered pit that was once last night's fire, they were pressed close against one another, Dad's arm draped over my mother. Small bundles of the cattail fluff from last night were packed into the crook of his arm and under the side of his head. One of his fingers twitched. "…yes, fudge," he mumbled faintly, and when he licked his lips a little, a small grin drifted onto my face.

They wouldn't have just abandoned me out here _with_ the emergency pack, not when it was full of their… food…

The mere _thought_ of food suddenly triggered a ravenous monster inside the pit of my stomach. I clutched it with my good hand, gritting my teeth and resisting the desire to moan pathetically against a hollow feeling. Hunger had never been this _painful_ before, and I still couldn't wrap my mind around the idea that I could even feel hunger so strongly in this form. It'd never been an issue before. Hell, I wasn't even sure if there was a real digestive tract in there – for all I knew, it was just a mushy combination of ectoplasm and ghostly energy resting under my skin… but what I was feeling in my 'stomach' was definitely hunger. For a second I wondered if the audible gurgles it made would be enough to wake my parents up, but I shook the thought off.

Rather, my entire being was locked on the zipper in front of my knees. The zipper to the emergency bag. The zipper that, when opened, would reveal Mom and Dad's remaining stash of six granola bars... edible granola bars... sweet, gooey, _mouth-watering_ granola bars.

_Grab NOW_ was the only thing dictating my thoughts. My fingers were automatically moving before I'd realized it. They fumbled almost desperately with the bag and started to unzip it – when my mind suddenly screeched to a halt.

I couldn't _steal_ from my own parents. Aside from the likely chance of having the living snot beaten out of me before being banished from this little group, it was just… wrong. But, it was so _tempting _to snag a quick bite and settle my pleading stomach (_just one bar; would they even notice?_). I hadn't eaten in several _days_, but… I just couldn't do it.

With a heavy sigh/grumble, I reluctantly zipped the bag back up and shoved it away to the side. That's when I heard a sudden crunch of leaves directly behind me, and I whirled around with a startled gasp.

"Get _away_ from our food, ghost."

I blinked, face-to-face with the end of a thick stick that was only inches away from my nose.

It shouldn't have surprised me that Mom was standing right behind me, calm and completely awake. She usually was a morning person. I'd figured she'd appreciate sleeping in after the last two exhausting days, and hadn't imagined myself to be loud enough to wake her up – but she was there, her walking stick held in front of her and looking ready to beat someone within an inch of their life.

For a moment I just sat there, and then began spluttering out a mouthful of incoherence. "Whoa, hang on – th-this isn't what it looked like," I stammered, scooting back a little as Mom lowered her walking stick and bent down to pick up the small emergency pack, her wary eyes never leaving mine. "I-I just woke up. My head was laying on it but I didn't—"

"Quiet," she suddenly hissed, casting me a glare I was all-too-familiar with. "You're going to wake Jack up."

"Mads, 'm already 'wake." Mom hesitantly took her eyes off of me for a moment to glance back at my father. He sleepily sat up, rubbed the grit out of his eyes, then blinked at the two of us. "Uhh… am I missing something? What's wrong?"

We glanced at each other again. I took the time to pick myself up and stumble back a little ways further, gladly giving my mother her space. She cast her distrustful eyes over to me again while she walked back to Dad. "Nothing's wrong," she said, helping my dad to his feet and handing him the small bag.

They took a few minutes to shake off any loose remnants of sleep – then Mom looked back over to the creek where we'd eaten a _scrumptious_ dinner of wild plants last night. She turned her attention warily up to the overcast sky, as if expecting the gray clouds to dump buckets of rain on us at any second. "I'm going to go grab a few more flower heads to take with us – and then we need to keep moving." Mom said quietly to Dad. "Looks like there's a chance of rain today."

My father exhaled heavily through his nose. "A hundred miles in four days, thirty a day? We've only travelled, what, almost forty over the last two?"

She shook her head. "We just need to pick up the pace." She cast a glance over in my direction. "Which is obviously a little harder to do with this _ghost_ trailing behind."

"I'm going to talk to him later on, find out why he's still following us." He shrugged. "And Mads, he hasn't really done anything threatening, so…"

Trying not to pay attention to the conversation between my parents, I was left to hang out by myself for most of the time after that, lost in my own thoughts and (growing) worries. I was still a little confused by the whole waking-up-with-a-makeshift-pillow thing; the last thing I remember before falling asleep was sitting by the achingly warm firelight, ignoring all of the aches and pains, falling asleep on my dad's arm—

Oh.

My eyes widened a little at that particular memory, and a wave of unease was quick to replace the initial shock. That… hadn't been smart. At all.

Glancing over at him, I couldn't help but scowl. Something was up. I hadn't been in the right state of mind to contemplate it much yesterday, but why was he being so… Well, 'nice' wasn't exactly the right word I was looking for, and 'generous' was pushing it. Back home, he was the absolute epitome of shooting first and asking questions later. He _was _a dangerous ghost hunter when he wanted to be. But now…

"Hey. You coming?"

I looked up and blinked, surprised to see Dad cautiously ambling a few feet over to me, Mom already stalking off further into the woods. Shaking off the thoughts gnawing at my brain, I nodded silently, and trailed after my parents.

* * *

Just for the record, being stuck hungry, tired, having to depend on two people who'd gladly destroy you, and completely lost in the _middle of freaking nowhere_ isn't the most exciting thing in the world.

I brushed past what was probably the ten trillionth tree since getting stuck out here, my nerves growing more and more anxious by the hour. The day had dragged on forever. Everything had quickly seemed to become routine out here. Were we just going to keep walking in some pointless direction, looking for help? Would we even _find_ help? Were we meant to die out here, far away from home, where the chances of someone finding us alive and sane were next to nothing?

The thought that we wouldn't be getting out of this alive was too disheartening for my mind to think about. Shaking my head, I heaved a tired sigh and pushed my way through the forest after my parents, trying to think of something else to… well, think about. It was kind of hard to accomplish that when every two minutes my stomach was whining for me to feed it, and the continuous pain in my hand, along with the sheer exhaustion that clung heavily to my shoulders wasn't helping at all. It was weird how tired I was compared to back home – usually my ghost half was quick to heal itself, regenerate lost energy…

My brows furrowed as I pushed past a particularly thick grove of trees, still keeping my parents in sight, a sigh of irritation leaving my lungs. My powers.

I'd always known I wasn't really a ghost. My body, thoughts, actions – my very _existence_ just didn't work the same as a ghost's did. I'd always remained consciously aware of that small spark of warmth and humanity – of _life _– buried deep underneath the cold, distant feeling associated with my ghost form. But that same feeling inside of me I'd known for so long had given way to a strange sensation of hollow nothingness, and apparently wouldn't be coming back on its own anytime soon.

I closed my eyes for a moment and let the problem echo through me, my mind struggling to come up with any possible explanations, theories, solutions… nothing. My eyes glared down at the earth with an air of defeated frustration, and I absentmindedly rubbed the back of my head, wincing at the small lump from when I'd whacked my skull during the plane crash. It'd been nearly forty eight hours since I'd realized they were gone… Had I forgotten how to use them, or something? Would they ever come back? Were they gone forever?

That… wasn't a thought I wanted to dwell on. I was as useless as any human. A human with a freaking _broken hand_. It would be impossible to prove to my parents I was really their son, if it became necessary in the future, and I had no way of defending myself.

"I'm not dead," I muttered to myself with a sigh, cradling my broken hand again and gazing out into the leaves. "I'm not a ghost…" It was still obvious, but it made my nerves relax a little more from hearing the words come from my own mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father hesitate a step to turn his head and stare at me, blinking in bewilderment.

"Uhh…"

Oh. Right. I was technically already _supposed_ to be dead. "Er… don't ask," I said, not meeting his eyes, cutting off the question he was surely about to ask. "Just talking to myself, is all."

Dad seemed to hesitate on something before muttering, "Okay…?"

Nothing much happened for a good portion of the day after that. We were fortunate enough to avoid the impending rain save for a few scattered drizzles – yet the clouds continued to hang around, cloaking the forest in mild darkness. A few hours later, a nagging at the back of my mind drove me to quicken my pace just enough to catch up to match that of my father, who'd lingered a little ways behind Mom.

"Umm… Jack? Can I… Can I ask you something?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck. _I _cannot_ believe I'm asking this, but… _

He glanced down at me and blinked. "What?"

"This morning I… er, I woke up on the little bag you guys salvaged from the plane crash. I didn't steal anything, though – but did… uhh…"

"Oh," he exhaled, "that. Yeah." He paused for a moment, awkwardly struggling with what to say next while I waited. "Uhh – I don't know, I mean, Mads and I just found out that you can _sleep_ like humans, and you looked… I don't know. I figured you'd be… comfortable or something, I guess. She wasn't happy about it."

I blinked. It might have been the response I'd half-expected, but it was still bewildering to hear the actual words come from my father's mouth. "Thanks," I said slowly – Dad merely grunted in response. I rubbed the back of my neck and wracked my head for something to come up with to break the uncomfortable silence that stretched between us.

"Your, uh, wife seems really…" I shook my head and smiled a little. "She looked ready to beat the crap out of me this morning."

Dad chuckled a little, his shoulders visibly easing a little. "Mads practically stayed up half the night just to make sure you wouldn't wake up and run off with it.

"I wasn't planning on stealing it in the first place," I said. "And it's not like I'd get far, anyway."

He was quiet for a moment to digest that. "Why _are _you following us, anyway?"

I shrugged. "Is… there anything better to do? We're lost, I'm powerless, I'm starving, and hell – I can't even freaking fly. I haven't been able to do anything since we crashed here." I said sourly. "Compared to you two, I'm useless."

Surprisingly, Dad chuckled a little. "So, basically you're defenseless? You must be pretty desperate to admit that," he said. "Especially to a ghost hunter."

"Yeah, well…" I scowled, gazing down at the ground and trying to keep my balance while we trudged across the uneven ground. "Following you and Maddie just seems reasonable, I guess. She seems to be the outdoors expert, not me."

"That makes two of us," he said with a half-smile, then looked at me uncertainly. "Earlier you'd said you were starving…" He set his jaw and glanced off to his side, which was a usual sign that he was attempting to contemplate something very hard.

"Er… Yeah. I'm really hungry," I muttered, shrugging and avoiding his eyes. I suddenly stumbled forward. Dad was surprisingly quick to help me up to my aching feet, and I bit my lip to keep myself from actually crying out in pain when I fumbled with my broken wrist, trying to cradle it in a not-as-painful position close to my chest. "God damnit…" I muttered, gritting my teeth and pushing myself ahead of my father, very aware of his eyes on the back of my head. "Thanks."

"Mmhmm… Shouldn't you… uhh…" I glanced up to see him walking by my side, staring at my hand with curiosity. "Shouldn't you get that into a sling, or a… splint, or something?"

I wanted to laugh, but I was just too tired. "Probably, but what would I use for one? S'not like there're any orthopedists anywhere out here."

"Ortho… what?"

I cracked a smile. "Bone doctors. There's nothing out here I could make a splint out of."

"Oh." Dad kept an eye on the path ahead of us, keeping Mom in his sights. We were silent for another moment, when he unexpectedly said, "You have bones?"

"I… guess." More silence ensued.

"Actually," Dad said cautiously, like he was trying to convince himself to say his next words, "Mads would probably know how to set it, or something. She's good at things like that. Uhh… if you want, I could talk to her…?"

I opened my mouth to stutter out some sort of half-coherent response when the back of my neck suddenly prickled. I slowed to a stop and twisted around, alertly surveying the trees. Holding my breath, I waited.

Nothing.

The fact that nothing was there just made it worse. I remained stiff, narrowing my eyes and feeling goose bumps spring onto my arms. An odd yet horribly unsettling sensation had suddenly permeated the air around us – the kind of feeling where every hair on the back of your neck rises and icy fear begins to crawl down your spine. I didn't even know what I was waiting _for_ – _but_ if there were ever a time to feel claustrophobic, vulnerable, and exposed at the same time, it would be now.

It was just… For some really odd, really unnerving reason, that feeling wasn't leaving me alone. Of course, from months upon months of being affiliated with the supernatural, I'd been exposed to that sinister feeling enough times to know what it felt like. The trees seemed to be a little darker, the tangy smell of rain drifting through the air. Something within me suddenly wasn't liking the direction we were heading in.

I continued to stand there – completely tense and unmoving save for the movements from my chest, listening, ready to spring back at the slightest rustle around me. I felt as if a loaded gun were being pointed in my direction. And I didn't know why.

"Phantom?"

I yelped, actually leaping into the air and simultaneously whipping around, completely having forgotten that Dad was nearby. He was standing curiously up ahead, having fallen back a little ways from Mom. His forehead wrinkled a little. "Why'd you stop?"

I moved my mouth a little, blinking in confusion. "You don't feel that?"

His brows creased. "Feel what?"

"Uhh…" I trailed off, looking back in the trees, that same foreboding pit settling in my stomach. "Nevermind. I just… thought I saw something."

"Oh… Well, uhh – Mads and I are stopped up ahead by the creek for a break." He hesitated. "If you're going to join us, then… come on, I guess." He began to walk off, and I made sure to follow this time.

It must have been my natural tendency to feel paranoid, or my sensitivity to the supernatural. Whatever it was, I tentatively shrugged it off, stalking after my father. Before following, though, I glanced back over my shoulder, doing a quick sweep of my surroundings. Nothing was jumping out at us or lunging for my throat. The forest was quiet and eerily still.

And yet… I couldn't shake off the feeling that we were being watched.

* * *

"So, Jack says you've broken your hand."

It wasn't a question, and surprisingly, lacked contempt. I shifted nervously from foot to foot – or, rather, swayed from side to side on the ground, gazing up at my mom hesitantly standing a few feet from me. I'd half-heartedly agreed to Dad's suggestion of letting her take a look at my hand – even though it was something my brain was rapidly categorizing as a Very Bad Idea. The really odd thing was that she wasn't looking at me with the same hostility as before. Not that I was complaining. It was just… it was different.

I avoided her eyes, my face blank, trying to ignore the churning of butterflies in my stomach. "Yeah," I said quietly.

She sighed, then closed the distance between us knelt down in front of me and – I flinched – gently grabbed my swollen hand. I tried to remain perfectly still and didn't say a word. She lightly traced her fingers over the top of my hand and wrist, and I could sense the shiver she tried to repress at the iciness of my skin. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. She examined the injury with a weirdly practiced, maternal-like skill. "Obviously a closed fracture… Looks like it's broken in several places somewhere along the carpals, possibly part of the metacarpals." She looked up at me, her eyes intense, and it was obvious gears were turning in her head. "Ghosts can break bones?"

Having no idea what a metacarpal was, I glanced away, consciously trying to push the waves of pain to the back of my mind. "Uhh… Sure, you could say that," I muttered.

"I don't get it," she said impatiently, turning my hand over and inspecting the reddish green scab across my palm, puzzled on the way dried blood and ectoplasm was smeared all over my clothes, how dirty I was… etcetera. "From what Jack and I have observed in the past, your ectoplasm should have completely regenerated itself and healed these… wounds… hours after you damaged yourself."

I resisted the urge to snort at the way she worded herself. "I don't know why my hand's still injured," I said softly. "Something's wrong, seriously. I should have healed on my own… mostly, anyway." I looked up at her. "And… really, I didn't crash that plane. It's not my fault… I don't even know why I was involved. I should have been back home."

Mom's face seemed to soften just a little at my words, and she sighed. The awkward tension seemed to lesson a little bit as I massaged the tight muscles on the back of my neck, and she stood up. "There's nothing I can do. There's nothing to use out here to set the… bones with." She hesitated, and I could have sworn her expression flickered into one of sincere sympathy before settling back into a calm mask. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged, pulling my knees up to my chest, leaning my chin against them. "It's okay. Thanks for trying, anyway."

"How can you _have_ bones to break, anyway?"

I hesitated, shrugging diffidently again. Frankly, I wasn't in the mood to really care about his prying, which I probably should have been. It'd been only three days since we were stranded – it seemed longer – and my entire mind was just kind of lethargic. I gazed up at the sky, as if something up there would show itself as the answer to all of our problems… and that's when it struck me. I needed to tell them…

I was starting to seriously agree with the thought that keeping this Earth-shattering secret from them wasn't the smartest idea, judging from how screwed our situation really was. It was truly going to be a matter of life and death; these stakes weren't something I could take lightly. I was trapped out here with a pair of paranormal _scientists_. Of all people, wouldn't something like this be in their area of expertise? Perhaps they could offer some sort of help, figure out why I couldn't fly…

There just wasn't any other way.

"There's…" I sighed, clenching my other fist, closing my eyes. "There's something I need to tell you…" Drawing into myself a little, I stared down at my knees. "I'm… I'm not—" That's when a loud snapping of twigs suddenly broke the silence behind us. All three of us froze.

Dad blinked. "What was—"

"Quiet," Mom whispered. I twisted around, eyes glancing warily through the trees. Off to my left, leaves rustled, brambles crackled, and young trees swayed as the whatever-it-was grew closer. I narrowed my eyes, tensing, trying to ignore the small tendrils of fear sliding into my veins. This was probably the source of the uneasy vibes I'd been getting earlier, from the exposed, dangerous atmosphere looming in the forest…

We waited, each of us growing more anxious by the second. Adrenaline began to seep into my system, A few more seconds passed – then a dark shape loomed into view, obscured by the brush.

"Deer?" I whispered.

I stopped breathing. A mere thirty or so feet away, gleaming at us with interest, sauntered an enormous, solitary black bear.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Pathetic attempt at a cliffhanger, I know, but the plot really kicks off next time! D:_


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